In the Name of Faith
by Rage of Lunacy
Summary: Ichigo has been an Assassin as long as he can remember. He's learned the ways of battle and the wisdom of the Master, yet he can't seem to understand what draws him to a certain blue-haired Templar Knight. Not to mention, the Brotherhood is seemingly trying to hang itself by a noose. Bad summary is bad and AP students have no time.
1. Faltering Faith

**[AN] HEY don't mind me. I was just cleaning this up. Also, a GIANT thank you to those reviewers that asked me to keep going. The next chapter is in the making. :) If it gets as much positive feedback as this one, I'll devote the rest of my empty summer to this. And my drabbles. Yes. I love you guys. And the drabbles. *nodnod***

Assassins._ Disgusting creatures, slinking around in the shadows and undoing all the Order works toward. They immerse themselves in the blasphemy of witchcraft, bringing the hopeless and damned under their spell with their exotic talents and promises of freedom from oppression. Their graceful dance that brings death upon hundreds of loyal, God-fearing knights deserves the fear and respect it earns, but they are few. Their elders, their leaders, cannot be everywhere at once. We will root them out, and we will end them. That is the will of God. That is what he told me. I shall see to it, and no matter how much blood is shed, my soul will be saved. I am doing God's work. I, Sousuke Aizen, am already granted entry into Heaven upon death. But I will not die; not until I have extinguished the demons that plague the world. That is the cause that drives my blade. That is why I am here. That is my purpose._

"Grimmjow."

"Sir?"

"When is the next sweep of the city?"

"Ten minutes, sir."

"Good. Tell Tousen I'll be joining him."

"…Yes sir."

Aizen, Tousen, and ten other Templars were midway through their city-wide sweep when they'd come to Karakura Square, where the leader had allowed his men to quench their thirst. Rifles were carefully held out of the way and safely pointed at the ground as each took their turn. The dark-skinned lieutenant joined his leader in watching the skies.

"It's been a quiet night, Tousen."

"Yes, sir, it has."

"Makes you wonder where the poor wretches are, doesn't it?"

"Indeed." The brunette chuckled and clapped the lieutenant on the shoulder. He opened his mouth to say something, but slowly closed it as a hooded figure stepped out of an alleyway to his left. Behind it, he could see at least four more, but they didn't seem as though they were in any hurry to join their companion. The figure discarded its cloak, and both knights drew in an involuntary breath. Aizen's eyes widened ever so slightly.

The young thing before him was stunning. Sinewy sun-kissed arms were hanging at the sides of a slim torso clad in a sleeveless form-fitting top, the fists at the end of them clenching and relaxing in anticipation. Long legs, whose undoubted musculature was hidden by cargo pants, stood shoulder-width apart, obviously ready to spring at a moment's notice. A magnificent body tensed for battle, cleansed in the violence of war; something most knights spent their entire careers creating. This boy could be no older than nineteen. His lower face was covered with a cowl as black as the rest of his attire, but his eyes –as brown as chocolate, the Templar mused – were open for display and equally analytic of his watchers. What captivated attention the most, however, was the boy's hair. It was a fiery orange, a tone one might see in the sky as the sun rose or fell, with white feathers braided into one side by his face. It was shaggy and shoulder-length, and looked surprisingly soft despite the rest of the rough exterior. The Templar knew he had to have him, even after noticing the armored wrist guard encasing the boy's right arm.

The boy was an Assassin. Judging from the aged scar under his right eye, he was born into it. Despite being outnumbered fifteen-to-one, he was eerily calm.

Tousen didn't hesitate as he charged forward with his usual justice screech. The teen rose to the challenge and lunged forward to meet him. Silver glinted at the boy's wrist. Then it was over. The justice-hungry knight was limp against the boy's shoulder, crimson blossoming across the back of his white uniform. Tousen, the knight that never knew defeat, was _dead_. Every pair of eyes watched as the Assassin lowered the Templar to the ground. Every pair of ears heard the well-known whisper that left the mouth of the young killer; the words were known though the language was unfamiliar.

"In Frieden ruhen." _Rest in peace._ The Assassin stood and looked Aizen in the eye. The brunette unconsciously touched his uniform over a scar he had received as a Knight while out on a raid. A young boy had given it to him after witnessing the death of his family. A boy with orange hair. Realization slapped Aizen across the face and his lips formed a thin line across his face as he paled.

Four more Assassins, dressed like the first, spread out behind him. In an attempt to recover gracefully, Aizen silently ordered his troops to attack. As they charged into a futile battle, he retreated into the night.

_A necessary sacrifice_, he thought. He couldn't make himself believe it, though. For the first time in years, Sousuke Aizen's faith faltered.


	2. Steady Heart

It had been a decent week following their encounter with Aizen. Despite the few cuts and bruises that the group had gotten in the skirmish with Aizen's footmen, they'd been able to come home with all intact and smiles on their faces. Tousen was dead – something worth celebrating. Aizen had fled and hadn't made any advances on the weaker dens – another thing to celebrate. The Assassins had gained more ground in one night than they had in years. Yet, something had their youngest by the neck, dragging him into a state of constant action. It was as if he was determined to keep moving, lest he be drowned in his own thoughts. And if it didn't piss Renji off, he'd be damned.

The red-headed man had all but watched the orangette grow up. The kid had been introduced to the Brotherhood at the age of six, alone and orphaned by the Templar Aizen and his squire Tousen. Renji had been thirteen at the time, and he remembered that day like it had been yesterday instead of almost fourteen years. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he looked up to see if Ichigo was still scaling the tower that served as their home. Sure enough, there he was, barefoot and wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts, lifting himself higher by his fingertips. Every Assassin had made this climb at least once, but for the kid it was ritual. Every day he'd make his way to the top, do whatever he did up there, and come back down. Sometimes he took the stairs. Other times, he'd climb back down the way he came. On the rare occasion, he'd make the leap of faith from the spire and put everyone's heart in their throats until he was safely nestled in a cart of hay or flower petals. Today, thankfully, was not one of those days. As Ichigo hauled himself over the edge and began the next part of his ascent, Renji couldn't help but think back to when the boy had first arrived.

Ichigo had been an emotionless doll cradled in the crook of Master Zangetsu's arm when he came through the door, and had pretty much remained that way. All he admitted to feeling was frustration, relief, and that settling happiness that came from having a family. There were no 'feelings' for other people; no love except for familial, no hate except for the deep-rooted bitterness between rivals.

_Well_, Renji thought, _I take that back. He seemed pretty pissed when we stumbled across Aizen and Tousen. Can't say I blame him, though._ Motion in his peripherals snapped his attention to his left, where Hallibel was staring intently in Ichigo's general direction. By the tired look to her stance, he guessed she had just returned from an assignment.

"How long has he been up there?"

"A couple of minutes, tops."

"He's getting faster."

"No doubt about it."

"Which means he's getting stronger."

"He swore he would, didn't he?" The older woman smiled slightly, placing her hands on her hips.

"I'm glad for him. He's come so far in such a short amount of time. Master will be proud when he returns." Renji nodded his agreement, then paled as Ichigo dove over the edge at the top. No sitting today, then. The boy rolled onto his back in the air, arms spread like wings. A pile of hay welcomed his slight frame with open arms and a soft _woosh_. Hallibel meandered over and extended a hand, tugging him to his feet when he took it.

"You're back!"

"Mhm," she hummed while thrusting a shirt and a pair of kicks – the only actual pair of shoes he owned aside from his boots – into his arms. "Get dressed."

"Where're we going?" he asked as he shoved his head into the tank top and pulled it down over his stomach.

"To the Peace Festival. I'm in the mood for window shopping, and you're going with me."

"Fun. Lemme grab some socks, and we'll go. Okay?" He was all smiles. His personal mentor, and probably best friend, was back, meaning he had somewhere else to put his downtime to use besides in the gym.

"Hurry up, then!" Renji watched as the female kicked out at the younger male's rump, causing him to yelp and hurry off, a shoe in each hand. When he had disappeared into the compound, she sighed. The redhead raised an eyebrow. She suddenly looked so much older…

"What's eatin' you, Hal?"

"I'm going to die tonight, Renj."

"What..?" His eyes widened and something heavy settled in his chest. Could she have been blunter about it?

"A Templar peacefully approached me today, warning me that someone was going to poison my drink at the festival tonight. He didn't say when or who, but he advised that I spend time with my beloveds. That's why I'm taking Ichigo now, and not later with everyone else."

Renji swallowed the lump in his throat and coughed, assuming what he hoped was a normal disposition as said youngster practically exploded from the doorway, smiling brightly. Hallibel instantly smiled back, but Renji couldn't do it. He couldn't smile at the boy knowing he was about to relive the nightmare he'd been able to escape thus far. A speck of blue in the crowd just outside the gates caught his attention, but when he gave it a second glance, it was gone. He shook his head and ruffled Ichigo's hair.

"Behave yourself and –"

"Stay out of trouble. I know, I know." The teen swatted lightly at his hand, frowning up at him. "I'm not twelve anymore, Renji."

"I know, but _somebody _has to remind you. Go have fun, mind what Hallibel says. Keep your head on a swivel. You know the drill, kiddo."

"Yes, sir." Then the boy was all but dragging his friend out the gate, waving at Kenpachi as the brute of a man held it open for them.

_Remember the creed, Ich, and don't falter. She needs you to stay strong for this…_


	3. Proud Death

**[AN] Okay, I'm just going to warn you now: There's a badly written action scene in here. In fact, the whole thing's probably bad, since I was up at 3AM writing it.**

**ALSO – I don't own Bleach. I only own a copy of Volume 25 because it's my favorite.**

Brown eyes glittered with wonder as Hallibel led her student through the crowded aisles, answering innocent questions with equally innocent answers and enjoying this new emotion that had been plastered on his face since they arrived. He looked so young, now that he was free from the burdens of the Brotherhood, however briefly. He also needed a haircut, considering how often he had to flip his bangs out of his face. The white feathers had been replaced with black ones, and she couldn't help but wonder what poor bird he'd stolen them from. She also couldn't deny how amusing watching him go after said birds for said feathers was. It was almost as funny as the time that Renji had challenged Ichigo to a fight. Her disciple had stopped to watch one of the main attractions at the festival. Ironically, it was a fight, but it was expected. Their home was centered on self-defense and prowess in violence. It was why the Assassins and Templars had battled for it for so long; each side had plucked some of the best fighters off the streets and preened them into machines built for blood. Hallibel leaned on him and watched what she could between the various heads in her way. It looked like it was last year's champion, Yammy Llargo, against some poor schmuck that didn't know when to quit.

Ichigo, bless his soul, was fiddling with the Brotherhood pendant hanging from his neck like he did when he found something he wanted to try. A sigh slipped from the woman's nose, but the inward breath she took caught in her throat as she locked eyes with the Templar from earlier in the day. His gaze shifted to her left and she glanced at Ichigo.

Except Ichigo wasn't standing there anymore. He was moving forward through the crowd, raising his hand to volunteer for the next fight. Oh, how Hallibel wanted to strangle him right then. She pushed through the crowd with him, ready to silence him once they reached the inside of the ring.

"Hey, I'll go next!" Yammy turned around and raised an eyebrow.

"Go back to Mommy, kid. I don't fight puppies." Hallibel bristled and nudged Ichigo forward.

"Kick his ass, Ichigo. I didn't raise a puppy, and I sure as hell won't tolerate you being called one."

"You got it." The smirk was obvious in his tone as he stepped out of his shoes and tucked his socks in them, pushing them next to his mentor's feet.

**((Everything is permitted.))**

Grimmjow watched with an amused expression as the smaller teen danced with the monster that was Yammy. The two were close in age, though not obviously, but Orange had the upper hand. He was always on the move, light on his feet. It was ticking the bigger boy off, and was making the fight that much more interesting. While Yammy's style was blatantly Irish boxing – all brute strength in the arms and upper body – and extremely ineffective against the smaller male, the blue-haired knight was having a hard time telling what exactly he was using. It was almost like he was employing the four corners of the world at the same time. Elbows and forearms, the tops of his feet and his heels, his knees, his shoulders, some sort of acrobatic way of flipping through the air as though he had wings. Whatever it was, it was beautiful to watch. He was easily slapping away hits meant to break him and returning them just as harshly _simply by turning certain points of his body_.

And then it made sense. Suddenly, Grimmjow knew why he recognized the style. The woman that the boy had been with had used it on him this morning when his attempt at killing her failed. After having the wind knocked out of him and being floored three times in a matter of minutes, he'd gone to quietly warning her that her time was up. This boy must be her student. Son, perhaps, what with the way she'd been so irked at his being called a puppy. Then again, maybe not. The boy was a good head taller than her, and had next to nothing in common with her looks.

Jeering pulled the man from his thoughts and turned his attention back to the makeshift ring. Orange was on the floor, clutching at his shirt where his solar plexus sat. He was struggling to pull air back into his lungs. Yammy had finally landed a blow and was grinning like an idiot. He failed to notice the flurry of emotions, mainly annoyance, which flittered through those brown eyes as the kid picked himself up. Three quick strikes at rapid-fire disoriented, stunned and dislocated something in the bigger teen. Yammy's right arm – his dominant arm – hung limp at his side, and he was yelling in pain. That, or surprise. Even Grimmjow hadn't been able to keep up with Orange's movements.

"Finish it, Ichigo! Faltering Faith! Starting position!" The woman's voice rang clear across the ring, and her fighter took two steps back, dropping into a strange stance. Yammy was still swaying in place, discombobulated and down for the count as soon as he fell over. Apparently, now was time for live practice with their latest lesson. Grimmjow stood on his toes to see better, ignoring the agitated protests aimed at his back.

"MOVE!" The word hadn't had time to leave her mouth before orange hair blurred forward, ducking under the large arm that hazily swung in his direction. A palm shot up and clipped the giant's chin, forcing his head backwards. Ichigo, as Hallibel had so graciously given Grimmjow the boy's name, slid away from him and let his opponent stagger. When one knee buckled, he zipped forward again, using it as leverage to boost himself up onto broad shoulders. Lithe calves hooked behind the thick neck, holding him up as he bent himself backwards and punched the back of Yammy's other knee. With both knees out, the brute began the fall backwards. Ichigo pulled himself back up without his hands – something that made Grimmjow's abs hurt just by watching – and let himself drop to the floor, catching himself on his palms and pushing off of Yammy's chest with his feet. As he straightened, a loud thud accented the sudden silence that had claimed the violent crowd. The teen had barely broken a sweat, but he was still gasping from the blow to his diaphragm. His shoes were brought to him and he was led from the scene.

Grimmjow felt a slow knot form in his guts. He was about to take the boy's teacher from him, while the kid was still learning. But from the way he handled himself, his training had to be all but over. The woman had been musing to herself about one last lesson when he'd confronted her. Perhaps he'd hide the kid's talents from Aizen for a while longer. For some reason he couldn't comprehend, he wanted to save Ichigo from that man's grasp. He hadn't cared before, but now it was like… It was like _he_ wanted to be the one that saved him from damnation.

Not that he could. Grimmjow had simply enlisted with the Templars for the money. His sister was sick, and all that honestly mattered was making sure her treatments were paid for. He held no love for the beliefs he fought for. In fact, had he known the Assassins had a presence in his home district, he'd have joined them instead.

But all that was in the past now. He had a job to do, as sick as it was. He branched off between two tents, making sure he was at the right booth before handing a small vial to one of the workers. The young man – blonde, buck-toothed, and of questionable intelligence – quickly poured the contents into a cup filled with some other liquid and handed both back to the knight, waiting for the vial to disappear into a pocket before handing another cup with water to him. Flagging down another festival-goer, Grimmjow politely asked her to give them to the blond woman standing by the boy with the orange hair. As she made her way over to them, the blunette grimly watched the boy look up with adoration at his mentor. She ruffled his hair, and seemed startled when a random woman came up to her and handed her two cups. Whatever the girl had said seemed to convince the older Assassin to take them. He watched as the two drank, watched as the woman stared down at her cup, watched blood drip from her nose, watched the boy jump to his feet and hold her steady when she swayed. He didn't stay to watch her die.

**((Work in the shadows to serve the light.))**

Something was off, Ichigo could feel it. Random people didn't just give other random people drinks. Not in this town. His feelings had hit home when Miss Hallibel swayed on her feet and blood had started running from her nose. He knew instantly that she was going to die by the way each of her veins slowly darkened, leaving blue-black trails along her dark skin. Tears pricked at the back of his eyes, but refused to come forth. The tell-tale whistle of fireworks shooting skyward drowned out the panicked yell that escaped his throat. He lifted his brown eyes, begging for help but hopelessly ignored as a bright explosion in the sky captivated any and all attention. Suddenly, Renji was there, saying something to him that he couldn't hear. He felt hands loosening his hold on his teacher, fought them, seeking to stay close to the only one who'd encouraged his ceaseless motion, but to no avail.

"Come on, King. We gotta go. There are Templars everywhere. We'll give her a proper burial, but we really need to go _now_," Shiro was hissing in his ear as the pale man pulled him through the crowd. Renji's red hair bobbed in and out of view, occasionally giving Ichigo a glimpse of his friend carrying his teacher through the crowd. He felt himself retreat into his mind, his body on autopilot and totally within Shirosaki's control.

He'd lost his family. Again.

**FUUUUUUUUDGE, that was hard to write. Anywho, reviews are nice. :3 Feel free to point out any mistakes, but please don't tell me how I should've written it. I'll fix what I can when I get some sleep later today, but for now, I have to pull a no-sleep day since I was up late enough to get caught by Dad. Thanks for dealing with my screwed up little mind! See ya~**


	4. Critical Thinking

The Brotherhood was a mess, and it seemed like there was next to nothing that any of them could do. The Recruits and Disciples were bent for blood, and would stop at nothing to get it. Their ranks had thinned on the first outward raid and, with each that followed, were decimated further. Now only fifteen full-fledged Assassins strong, they were faced with an older problem that had been continually put off: the Home Den still had no mentor. Shiro leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, counting on his fingers the biggest issues that rested between the Brotherhood's shoulders.

_One; Master Zangetsu hasn't been heard from in years._

_Two; Kaien's constant push for power has everyone on edge, but there's no reason that he can't be Mentor._

_Three; Ichigo has been missing for almost a year now, and nobody gives a shit._

_Four; we can barely feed ourselves._

_Five;_ _the Templars have us trapped in our own home._

_Six; we can't come together without going for each other's necks long enough to figure out our next move._

Shiro shook his head and stood up, not bothering to go further. He glanced at the clock; the others would be gathering soon. With a rather dramatic sigh, the pale man covered his gold-on-black eyes with his hands, silently wishing that when he took them down, a certain orange-haired punk would be there telling him they were going to be late. He already knew, however, that there wouldn't be. There hadn't been since shortly after the kid's twentieth birthday. Shiro sighed again, this time out of concern, and began the trip down to the courtyard from his room. His thoughts stopped for nothing, not even clipping his shoulder on the stone doorway that led to his comrades. As he stepped out into the harsh chill of the night to join the pointless debate that would get nowhere at a spectacular rate, he looked up into the dusky blaze speckled with clouds and interrupted by his own breath –_ Why do we still meet outside during the winter..? –_ He regretted not grabbing his jacket. Tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he made his way over to the circle of people. As usual, he was last to arrive, but no one said anything. Tired eyes took in the haggard forms that stood before him.

Renji, Rukia, Kaien, Toshirou, Rangiku, Nnoitora, Starrk, Yoruichi, Kisuke, Ishida, Tatsuki, Lisa, Kensei, Shinji, and himself.

_That's it. This is all we've got… and look at us. We're worse than the dogs that fight for scraps. _Already, Yoruichi and Kaien were in each other's faces. Apparently, Shiro wasn't the only one who was fed up with not doing anything about Ichigo's absence.

"This has gone on long enough, Kaien! We _need _to find him! As much as some might disagree, we wouldn't leave you out there by yourself!"

"He was perfectly capable to taking care of himself, Yoruichi. If he's still alive, he's doing just fine. For all we know, he ran off to join our enemies!" A loud crack sounded through the group. Kaien was on his ass. Yoruichi, along with most of the others, was staring almost approvingly. Shiro glared down at the man, fist still clenched as he dropped his arm back to his side.

"Use that intelligence of yers, Kaien," Shiro softly stated. "Ichigo was raised in the Home Den. Think about it. Would any of _us_ switch sides? Would any of _us_ betray our own?" He watched as Kaien reasoned with himself, and then offered his pale hand to help the man up. The gesture was shrugged off. Shiro simply huffed and stuck his hands back in his pockets.

"We need to work through this as a team, as a family, as a _Brotherhood_. And we need to start by bringing him home."

"But, wait." Rukia stepped forward, gnawing on the sleeve of her sweater. She was frowning at the floor, then at the three in the center. "What if he doesn't _want_ to be found? He wasn't taken by anyone. He left on his own accord."

"She's right. He may be our youngest, but that doesn't mean he hasn't grown at all. He's out there with the big dogs, and he's doing it by himself. He's Hallibel's best student. We've got nothing to worry about when it comes to him. Our biggest worries lie within these walls," Kensei reasoned around his cigarette. "Besides, I'm fucking freezing. I'd like to get this over and done with, or at least move it inside." Every head bobbed in agreement. Now someone just needed to say what was left unsaid and their next step towards tomorrow would be a simple one. The step after that would have to wait.

"I believe we can all agree that, for now, we should focus on keeping ourselves fed and our skills sharp," Kaien summed up the decision. No one argued.

**((Everything is permitted.))**

"_Fuck_, we lost him." Grimmjow hunkered further into his jacket, jogging to keep up with Ulquiorra's brisk pace.

"_We _lost him?" The green-eyed man all but stopped.

"Alright, so he ditched his jacket in my hands. Not exactly my fault. _You _were the one who spooked him." The blunette knew the behavior was childish, but he couldn't help it. He hated working with Ulquiorra, and he hated having to attempt to catch the orange-haired man for the Grandmaster's sake. He always got away, and left the pair currently searching for him in the crowd in trouble and painfully exhausted. Grimmjow sneered at the thought of Aizen having a creepy obsession with the Assassin. Ulquiorra dragging him by the front of his shirt brought him back to the task at hand.

"There!" Ulquiorra was looking around wildly for a door, while Orange was briskly hauling himself up the side of an apartment complex. Not even thinking, Grimmjow shrugged out of his jacket and sprinted at the wall, ignoring Ulquiorra's protests.

"We'll lose him if we take the damn elevator! Go take the stairs!" Using the first windowsill as a boost, he reached up to grab the next. The climb up was harder than it had originally looked, but after he got into a groove that allowed him to move as fast as he could without losing his balance, it wasn't all that bad. He looked up and noticed that Ichigo had stopped on a thin ledge and pressed himself against the side of the building. He didn't notice the blood dripping down the tan arm until it dripped and splattered on his face. Then Ichigo was on the move again, bracing his palms against the building and shifting sideways along the ledge. Grimmjow pulled himself up and found his balance, awkwardly following suit and having bitter thoughts on how the guy was a human spider or something. Up above, he heard a window open and knew that Ulquiorra had found them again.

"Grimmjow! He's right there! Grab him!"

"Easier said than done," the blunette grumbled. Ichigo rotated on his toes and now had his chest to the wall. He was looking up at Ulquiorra, over at Grimmjow, then back to Ulquiorra. There was no fear in his eyes whenever Grimmjow caught a glimpse of them under that shaggy hair that had continued growing since the last time they'd found him. The Assassin was thinking of doing something crazy.

Crazy was an understatement. The orangette let himself start to fall backwards. Ulquiorra's arm shot out, fist closing around open air in a failed attempt to catch him. For the Templars, the world came to a crashing halt. Grimmjow lunged and almost had the man's shirt in his grasp, but had to change course and bring his hand back to the wall before he lost his balance. Then a tan, bloody hand wrapped around Ulquiorra's wrist, and feet planted themselves firmly on the ledge again. The world started to move again, but only for a minute. Ichigo was using Ulquiorra as leverage to lift himself up to the roof. In a panic, Ulquiorra braced himself against the window and focused on not falling out and to his death. Grimmjow could only watch as the Assassin reached up and took a hold of Ulquiorra's shoulder, then quickly moved his other hand to drape over the pale man's neck. He wriggled a bit, hauled himself up, and jumped for the next ledge. Grimmjow craned his neck to see where he'd gone, but the kick-clad feet were already disappearing over the edge of the roof. Ichigo had gotten away, Grimmjow was pretty much stuck where he stood, and Ulquiorra had lost his stoic demeanor to the fact that he had failed Lord Aizen. Again. Grimmjow sighed and reached for the windowsill beneath his partner.

"Quit whining and help me up. Maybe where we found him has some clue as to where he goes every time we smoke him out." That snapped Ulquiorra back to his senses and he extended his hand for the second time.

**((Work in the shadows to serve the light.))**

Shivering and growing weary with every step, Ichigo knew he needed to get himself somewhere warm to patch up, and soon. He glanced over an edge and found an iced-over pool just beneath him. It wasn't the brightest idea, since it was roughly forty degrees and he was barely clothed. He'd been going to the lobby to pay for another night, but was spotted as soon as he'd left the stairwell. All he had with him was the shirt on his back, the shorts on his hips, the years-old kicks on his feet, and the bloody nick in his shoulder from the pale bastard's knife. But he had no choice; the Templars could be waiting inside, and he couldn't afford to run into them again. He needed to get back to the Brotherhood, and soon. He'd run out of places to hide, and frankly, he was tired of being alone. Steeling himself for the task ahead, he stepped off the edge and plummeted toward the crystalline water.

**OHMAHGOSH, I forgot to finish and upload this. ;w; I'm sorry~**


	5. Home from Desperation

The freezing water knocked the air from his lungs and he frantically scrambled for the surface. Chlorine stung in his wound, and the chilled air quickly smothered the inkling of heat his body was putting out. His arms shook as he hauled his soaked body from the pool, his breath billowing from his lips in white clouds. On his hands and knees he stayed, drawing deep breaths into his burning lungs. He needed to get moving, but he couldn't bring himself to get up, not yet. Brown eyes scanned the frozen surroundings, searching for anything: hope in the form of a Brother or stranger, danger in a pair, warmth in a forgotten jacket. Nothing came, and he fought the small knot in his chest. Far from home, at his wits end… He wasn't supposed to die like this. He was supposed to end up on someone's blade in a final attempt to save his Brothers and Sisters from Aizen's tyranny. Something hot flashed through his veins at the man's name, something incredibly violent and bloodthirsty.

"No," he whispered harshly. "I'm not dying here." Up, he forced himself, then forwards, steadily gaining speed until he was sprinting. He ran until his lungs felt like bursting and his body ached from exhaustion. Only a rusted gate falling off of its hinges stood in his way now. Forward he tumbled, his weight forcing the gate open. Stumbling to a halt, he lifted his gaze to fifteen surprised faces. Slouched over, battered and bruised, he almost collapsed where he stood. Willpower alone held him upright as he struggled to breathe.

"Holy shit." Ichigo snorted at Kensei's greeting, and then opened his mouth to speak. A thud and several shouts filled the silence where words had failed to leave him. He was home, he was safe…

**Hey, guys. I know this is ridiculously short and lacking a certain blue-haired bastard, but I'm sorry. I've got a sort of writer's block, and I'm trying to get a new story figured out. I'll try to have something decent before I leave for my family roadtrip tomorrow or at least work on the next chapter while I'm gone. I just wanted to thank everyone who followed/favorited/reviewed and let you know that I haven't forgotten. The song I used to write this was Epic Score's **_**The Return Home**_**. See ya next time!**


	6. Not-So-Loose Ends

"Ulquiorra, answer this question: could Templars and Assassins ever be at peace with each other?" Aizen glanced over the rim of his teacup at his subordinate. Cold green eyes snapped up from the floor to meet his cool gaze.

"No, sir, I don't think they could. Assassins are devoted to the destruction of the peace brought by our Order. That is why they target only our officers, creating chaos among our ranks and disrupting our efforts to assist those less fortunate. Their blasphemous ways preach only of lies and unruly tactics that are hardly honorable. The tenants of their creed do not consider the sins of the many, and only justify their selfish actions."

"Yet their oath is as old as ours, if not older."

"Then they have always been averse to the common and greater good, and have continually been denied God's grace as punishment. By removing them from the world, we would be saving the stray lambs that join their ranks and erasing a blemish on the face of belief."

"Have you ever compared our tenants to theirs?"

"Why would I, sir? It is the very opposite of our own, and holds no value to the true Templar."

"Is it the opposite? Answer truthfully, Ulquiorra, and do not blindly try to please me. It makes you sound foolish."

"My apologies, sir. I just haven't given it much thought. If their tenants are so similar to our own, then why are they the very face of sin?"

"They believe that what they are doing is right, just as we do. What they lack, however, is the conviction of religion."

"Then why not try to convert them? It would seem more sensible than slaughtering them."

"Offering them salvation is like spitting on their boots. They would rather die than join; you've seen that for yourself. How many times has Kurosaki escaped you by blindly throwing his life away?"

"Far too many."

"Remedy that, Ulquiorra. Take Gin with you, and have Grimmjow relieved. After the funeral, of course."

"Funeral, sir?"

"Unfortunately, young Nelliel was accepted into God's arms the other night. Our beloved Sexta is rather torn up about it. Emotional instability causes trouble for Knights, so I'd prefer if he was released from his duties before something regrettable happens."

"Permanently, sir?"

"Do be discrete about it. Confessing that I put the blame on someone else's shoulders is rather embarrassing."

"As you wish, Lord Aizen. Is there anything else?"

"No, you are dismissed." The Grandmaster of the Templar Order sipped his tea and turned his chair towards the window, the existence of the obedient Knight invisible to him. In the distance, the spire of the Assassin Home Den marred his view of the sunset. If he looked hard enough, he could see the outline of the creature haunting his soul. That man was like hellfire under his skin, making him burn with a desire that was surely corrupting his soul with every breath. Soon, though, he would have him and would be able to rid himself of this obsession. The Assassin would submit to him, or become an example of what defying the Templars could result in.

**Look at those two, scheming like the assbutts that they are. =w=**

**Another ridiculously short one. I think that this is how my updates are going to be from now on. I seem to lose my focus the longer they are and have to do a bad job of wrapping them up. Thanks for sticking with me, guys. Next chapter, I promise Grimmbaby's gonna make an appearance.**


	7. Showing Compassion - Part I

"I swear, Kaien, if you come at me with another attempt at mentor, I'm gonna stick Shiro's scissors somewhere unpleasant," Ichigo grumbled as he watched the pale man steadily shorten his hair. The floor was already covered with orange locks, but they were barely to his shoulders. He honestly didn't see the point in cutting it, but apparently it was a "matted mess that needed to go."

"You cannot deny me the position much longer, Ichigo. We need a leader."

"Why should it be you?" Brown eyes met green in the mirror, daring the other man to speak. White hands stopped their motions as Shiro looked over his shoulder.

"Look, we all know arguing tha' point's useless. We're all so close ta' each other skill-wise, it's gunna end up being a brawl between tha' top picks. And _those_ are voted on, so get out and lemme finish what I'm doin'. Yer distractin' me, and I might hurt somebody."

"Two threats in five minutes. It must be a new record."

"Want me ta' make it three?" For emphasis, Shiro pointed the shears in his direction. Kaien raised his hands in surrender and backed out of the door. The look-alikes sighed in unison, Shiro returning to his task.

"Why do you think he's so hard-pressed for it?"

"He always has been. I'unno, Ich. Somethin' seems off about 'im." The albino had to pause as the man under his hands straightened.

"Whattaya mean?" A scowl pressed Ichigo's brows together.

"He just seems unnatural, like he's a snake among birds. Maybe it's just 'cuz he rubs me tha' wrong way, but I don' think I'm tha' only one who thinks it."

Ichigo remained silent, scowl still in place. Shiro wondered how permanent it would become in the next few days, since it was all he seemed to do since he came home. He tugged on the strands between his fingers.

"Want it long enough for yer feathers?"

"…Take it shorter than yours. I'll find a way to keep them."

"Alrighty, then."

**((Stay your blade from the blood of the innocent.))**

Nel's funeral was almost too empty, but it was to be expected. Grimmjow's parents had died in the early stages of the illness they'd caught before he'd enlisted with the Templars. Unfortunately, Nel had suffered through it until she was defying the death predictions. There had always been a glimmer of hope between the two siblings, even though they'd both known how it would've ended.

Looking around, Grimmjow saw only himself, the Grandmaster, and several of the higher-ranking Templar Knights. They all proudly displayed their crosses, but Grimmjow had gone without. It was his sister's funeral; he wasn't wearing anything that he knew would've upset her. Something was different, though. Gin was giving off an apprehensive vibe, and kept fidgeting. Normally, he'd put it off as excitement, but… at a funeral? The man was a snake, but he wasn't _that_ twisted.

The priest finished his sermon and nodded at Grimmjow as he left, sympathy drawing his old features taut. Deciding not to stick around too long and risk shedding tears, Grimmjow left a single white rose at the base of the stone. As he stood, he swore to himself that he wouldn't feel this pain again. Nobody would get that close to him, and if they did, he'd protect them with every last ounce of his being. Without a backward glance, the Knight turned around and left, only stopping to look Aizen in the eye.

Something dark swirled in the man's expression; something that made Grimmjow nauseous, something that slammed Grimmjow's distaste to the ground and smothered it in unease. He made his exit swift, noticing his 'partner' and the snake trailing behind him.

_Get your shit together, _he inwardly growled. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he crossed under the gated bridge across the river that split the city. Twenty minutes and a maze of turns later, he passed his apartment for the third time. Ulquiorra and Gin were still behind him. Spotting a familiar teardrop, he veered across an empty intersection and down an alley.

_Shit! _Blue eyes widened at the dead end ahead of him. He swung around, lips pulling back into a silent snarl.

"You knew you were being followed, so why did you choose a dead end?" Ulquiorra's dead tone echoed through the shadows as he stepped into the small space. Grimmjow answered with silence and raised fists.

"Oh, don't be like that. You know you won't make it out of this alley, not with Cuatro standing in your way," Gin chimed.

"Yeah, well, he'll be leaving by himself if that's the case," Grimmjow spat. Gin's smile dropped, leaving him looking like an impressionist trying to get Ulquiorra's face rght. A shadow passed over their heads, but no one bothered with looking up.

"Move over, I wanna bust his nose first." Ulquiorra silently stepped aside, though he looked almost peeved at having to wait. Grimmjow didn't respond the way he usually would have, his hands dropping slightly in favor of a confused look to cross his face. Gin frowned.

"What're you lookin' at?"

"He's looking at the Assassins behind us," Ulquiorra deadpanned. He turned his body to match an even gaze. For once, Grimmjow saw Gin's eyes open, and he inwardly snickered. There wasn't much that could bring that kind of expression. Behind the two men in front of him stood three men, shoulder to shoulder, including a face Grimmjow was amazingly relieved to see.

But Gin wasn't looking back, he was looking up. Grimmjow didn't have to look to know.

The Templars were surrounded.

* * *

**Ermehgerd, this just seems to get worse as I keep writing...**

**Alrighty, there we have it. Part one of something I hadn't originally planned on doing, but decided to do it anyway. I'll post part two later tonight. For now, I think I'm gonna go beat Tomb Raider real quick. I'm at the Point of No Return. Shouldn't be that long.**

**Thanks for sticking with this. Reviews are nice, but I don't expect you to follow/favorite/even write one. x-x**


	8. Showing Compassion - Part II

**Yeah, so much for right quick. This one's a tad short due to the fact that it's almost 10, and I still have a couple other updates to do. Anyway – Onwards!**

Ichigo hadn't hesitated in launching himself at Gin as soon as the Templars had noticed their arrival, thoroughly set on erasing the rat from the face of the earth. He had been the one to pull Nel's plug, and he would be the first one to go. That didn't mean he'd put up a fight, Ichigo inwardly groaned as he was slammed back against the wall. A switchblade glittered into view as the silver-haired snake danced away from him. Bloody brass glinted dully on his knuckles as he lifted his hands, settling into a simple stance. Sparing a glance around, he noticed Shiro's favored chain held as a cursory warning across the blue-haired Knight's chest; he noticed Ulquiorra and Renji eyeing each other, daring a single movement; he noticed Starrk signaling the others on the rooftop to head home.

Gin lunged back into reach, face serious. Ichigo ducked away from each swing or batted his arm away as their brawl seemed to drag. The Templar's movements were aimed towards preventing him from making any, and for a while, it worked. But he got cocky, and the single heartbeat between strikes was all the Assassin needed.

"I'm gonna make you bleed, for Nel," Ichigo promised as he plowed forward, slamming his fist into Gin's cheekbone in a wicked hook. A quick follow-up caught Gin's jaw and tossed him in the other direction. He wasn't about to hit the floor, though – Oh no, Ichigo wasn't even going to let him finish stumbling. A solid kick to the solar plexus had him hitting the wall with a raspy gasp, the following fist to his jaw sent a tooth clattering across the pavement, the unexpected grab and toss sprawled him across the floor. Ichigo didn't care that he was barely restraining himself: he needed to break someone, if not for his own sake, then for the man watching with wide, blue eyes. He'd lost his sister to unfair circumstances, and had been about to lose his life within three hours of burying her. The downright depravity of it irked Ichigo so deeply, he couldn't contain his anger.

Standing over the man as he struggled to roll himself over, Ichigo tossed his brass knuckles aside and tightened the laces on his wrist blade. He dropped into a crouch and gingerly grasped a shaking shoulder, angling his wrist so silver flashed into view with a quiet _shink_. The Templar had started to pray. Ichigo almost pitied him, almost pitied the fact that he'd brought such a man to a level as low as this.

"Rest in peace," he said in a soft tone as he slid the blade into the soft spot between the man's shoulder and neck. He instantly fell still. Ichigo rose, still looking down at the now slack face. He would be taken back to the Den and given a proper burial, whether the others agreed to it or not. Brown eyes rose to meet vivid cyan, shifted to lock with deep russet, then stopped on flat green.

"I take it you'll be taking Grimmjow off my hands?" came an equally flat monotone.

"Looks like it," came the gruff reply.

"Then I'll tell Lord Aizen the job is done." The pale Knight stepped over the corpse in the middle of the alley, bumping shoulders with the younger man. No one said a word for quite some time, Renji collecting Gin's body and beginning the short walk home. _"Rangiku would want to see him one last time."_ Shiro dropped his chain away from the bluenet, Grimmjow, and wrapped it around his forearm as he followed close behind.

That left Ichigo, Grimmjow, and a puddle of blood.

"Gonna kill me too?"

"If you want me to. I was going to offer you a chance to join us, but if death's what you want, I'd be glad to oblige."

"Why?"

"Everyone deserves a second chance."

"You didn't give Gin one."

"He didn't give Rangiku or Nel _their_ second chance."

"You knew my sister?"

"I spent time as her roommate. Malnutrition's a bitch to recover from at home."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Pummeling him."

"Eh, give me a reason other than faction, and I'd pummel any of them."

They were quiet for a heartbeat, then two, then three.

"Why piss everyone at the Den off by giving me a chance?"

"Why not return a favor or several?"

"Do you always answer a question with another question?"

"D'ya always jack around when it comes to _answering_ questions?"

"Fine."

"Fine, what?"

"I'll do it."

Ichigo smirked and turned to go, pausing only to look over his shoulder.

"Comin'?"

**AND THERE WE HAVE IT.**

**I suck at action scenes. But you've got yourself an update. Took me an hour, but you got it. I love you guys. Now go read much better fics and be happy. c:**


	9. IMPORTANT!

**Hey, guys.  
This isn't really a chapter, and it's posted on all of my in-progress fics because it's really important.**

**All of my fics and I are going on a hiatus from which I have no idea when I will return. I don't mean to leave you all hanging; I hate when it happens to me. But I can't keep up with my stories right now. My reasons are kinda personal, but I think that, as faithful readers that read every scrap of paper that I post, you deserve to know why I'm leaving.**

**I don't mean to guilt trip or put my problems on any of you, but my main reason is because my dad left Wednesday morning and I can't cope. Like, at all. I've been crying more than my sister does on her period. (She wanted you all to know that "fuck ovaries" is her new catchphrase, by the way.)**

**My other reason is because I do this thing called "writing backwards." Basically, I write the first chapter, sometimes the first two, and then I write the story from the end to the beginning. It's a lot easier for me than writing all the way from point A to point B. I think the reason why I dislike the quality of In the Name of Faith so much is because I've been writing forwards rather than backwards. The same goes for Once-Mortal and American Misadventures.**

**Now, I'm not saying that I'm giving my stories up; no way, I put time I could've been doing homework into these. I just need a little time to get everything written.**

**I honestly couldn't keep writing without all of the people who are always there, reading and reviewing my stuff. You guys rock, and I truly appreciate it. I love you.**


End file.
